Around the World in Ten Days
CHAPTER I
PAUL AND BOB
"Did you say this big Air Derby around the world takes place thiscoming summer, Bob?"
"So dad told me at the breakfast table this morning, Paul. The planshave just been completed. He said full details would be in to-day'spapers."
"And the afternoon edition is out now, for there's a newsie just aheadof us who is calling out the _Daily Independent_. That's your father'snewspaper, too."
"It will be in there sure pop, Paul."
"Then I'm going to get a copy right now."
The two youths, who but a few moments before had come out of the broaddoors of the Clark Polytechnic Institute along with a noisy throng ofother students, paused when they reached the newsboy in question, andthe taller of the pair bought a newspaper which he shoved into an innerpocket of his raincoat.
"We'll look at this in the car on our way home; a fellow can't do anyreading in a storm like this," said the purchaser. "Let's hurry up abit, Bob; I'm so eager to see what it says about that Derby that I canhardly wait to get to the station. Say, just think of it--a racearound the world by air! Won't that be great?"
"I'll say so, Paul old boy! They ought to smash all existing records.You know that a man named Mears made the circuit in thirty-five daysabout seven years ago, and he had to depend on slow steam trains andsteamships, aided by a naphtha-launch."
"That's true, Bob. Now that we have planes we ought to do a lotbetter. But the big oceans are the trouble for aircraft. The Atlantichas been crossed by Alcock and Brown in a Vimy-Vickers biplane, andalso by our NC-4 flying-boat under the command of Lieutenant Read, andby the big English dirigible R-34; but the Pacific, with its greaterbreadth, has seemed so impossible that it has never been attempted."
"Why should it seem impossible?"
"Because they can't carry sufficient gasoline to cross the Pacific."
"But how about the islands?"
"The majority are not level enough to permit a landing, and others aretoo widely scattered. I have made quite a study of transoceanic flightsince Harry Hawker and his partner, Grieve, made their unsuccessfulattempt last spring to cross the Atlantic in a Sopwith machine, and formy part I can't see how this proposed Derby around the world can all bedone by air, when no machine has ever yet been able to hop the Pacific."
"Well, Paul, we'll soon be at the station out of this storm, and thenwe can see what the paper says about it," was the philosophicalconclusion of his companion.
With that they hurried on down the street, bowing their heads to wardoff the sharp sleet as much as possible, while they gripped theirschool-books under their arms. They were a splendid-looking pair ofyoung Americans, probably about eighteen years old, and the manner inwhich they swung along through the disagreeable drizzle, paying scantattention to it as they laughed and talked, showed them to be full ofthat boundless energy and gaiety of spirits which only perfect healthand participation in athletics can bestow.
As Paul Ross and Robert Giddings approached the next corner, a youngman with umbrella held low in front of him hurried around it and raninto a small Italian girl who was carrying a basket of fruit. She wasstaggered by the collision; her basket was knocked from her arm, andthe oranges began to roll in every direction. The child broke intotears, but the cause of her misfortune only paused long enough to sayangrily, "Confound you, you careless little beggar! Why don't youwatch where you are going?" and hurried on his way.
"Say, Paul, did you see the way that swarthy-faced chap used thatlittle girl?" cried Bob indignantly.
"I certainly did," was the no less indignant answer. "That lazy dogought to be horse-whipped. Let's help the child."
Both boys fell to work with a will, rescued the escaping oranges, andtucked them back in their owner's basket. Then, with her gratefulthanks ringing in their ears, they hurried on once more.
After they had gone a few steps, Paul Ross observed:
"Bob, I've seen that fellow before. That was Pete Deveaux. He used tobe an Air Mail pilot on the same run as my brother John, but wasdischarged for drunkenness. Since that he has blamed John, and haswritten him several threatening letters, but is too cowardly to facehim."
By this time they had reached the West 137th Street station of thesuburban railroad which runs between the metropolis and various shoretowns along the picturesque Hudson. They were just in time to catch atrain, and found a comfortable seat in a rear coach. Then Paul broughtforth the newspaper he had purchased. What they sought was found onthe very first page, prominently displayed under a black-faced heading.
"Read it aloud, Paul," suggested Bob, and his friend proceeded to doso. The article was to the effect that the Aero Club of America, inconjunction with eminent aviation associations of the kind in Europeand Asia, had planned to stimulate interest in flying by holding anaircraft race around the world, which would start on the morning ofJuly 4th. All contestants must be at least twenty-one years of age,and furnish an entrance fee of two hundred dollars. They might use anytype of aircraft they chose, and could carry as many assistants as theywished, even utilizing trains or steamships, if not less thanthree-fourths of their journey were made by air; and they must stop atleast once in each of four continents, and cross the Atlantic andPacific oceans. Aside from these provisions, the selection of routewas left entirely to each contestant. Then followed an imposing listof names of well-known flyers who, it was said, had signified theirintention of competing. The article wound up with the statement thatprizes aggregating a million dollars would be offered the winners.
"One million dollars!" exclaimed Bob Giddings. "Paul, old man, you'dbetter go in for this!"
Paul Ross's eyes sparkled, but the next moment he laughed and shook hishead. "I surely would like to," said he, "but there are just threelittle things in the way of it."
"I suppose you need a machine for one thing?"
"Yes--and you must admit that's a good-sized item. Second, I need twohundred dollars to enter--something I don't happen to have, andsomething I know mother can't spare in such a hazard. Third, I needthree years added to my age in order to be eligible."
"It does look rather hopeless for you, that's a fact," admitted Bob."That second handicap might be overcome with my father's help, but theother two are real obstacles."
"It's mighty nice of you and your father, Bob, to wish to help me outin this fashion," said Paul; "but, as you state, the other drawbackscannot be swept aside so easily. Perhaps later on, another 'round theworld Air Derby will be pulled off, and I shall have a chance to enterit."
"Well, if you do, don't forget to count me in as an assistant,"declared his friend. "Nothing would please me better than to make atrip like that with you, Paul."
"You certainly shall be welcome if the time ever comes. By the way,Bob, John and I have designed a new type of monoplane in our sparetime, and for the past two months I have been busy making a three-footmodel of this. I hope to finish it in a day or two, and I want you togo with me over to the old fair-grounds next Saturday afternoon andgive it a test flight, if you will."
Bob Giddings was all interest at once, and plied his friend with manyquestions concerning his new model, many others of which he had intimes past helped Paul fly with the keenest delight. The truth is,Paul Ross and his brother John, the latter a pilot in the governmentAir Mail service, were known all over the State of New York as makersof the best-flying model airplanes to be found anywhere. Ever sincethey were small boys in grammar school, the brothers had beenconstructing miniature monoplanes, biplanes, and seaplanes, which theyhad pitted against the best product of other lads in the neighborhoodand surrounding towns, without once meeting defeat. Many of thesespecimens of youthful ingenuity they still preserved, suspended inbedroom and attic, where they were a never-ending source of interest tovisitors at the Ross homestead in the outskirts of Yonkers.
The war had called John into the aviation service of his country, butPaul had sti
ll continued his experiments in making tiny airplanes,getting his friend Robert Giddings, who lived in a fine house onShadynook Hill, to assist him in the flying. Thrown together by theirmutual love for mechanics, and being in the same classes all throughhigh-school, Paul and Bob had formed a strong attachment for eachother, although the latter's home was far more pretentious than theformer's, since Paul's mother was a widow in only moderatelycomfortable circumstances, while Bob's father was the editor and ownerof the _Daily Independent_, one of the leading evening newspapers ofNew York City.
When John returned from the war it was with an incurable passion forflying, and within a few months he had re-entered the service of hiscountry in the peaceful but dangerous work of carrying Uncle Sam'smails between Washington and New York in a big Martin bomber. He foundthat his younger brother's love for aviation had also developed, aswell as his skill in constructing and flying model airplanes. Some ofthese recent ones were so novel in design and of such wonderfullyingenious workmanship, that John, who had won unusual honors as anaviator on the French front, was quite thunderstruck, and determined toencourage Paul's talents in this line in every way he could.Therefore, when the boy graduated from the Yonkers high school, andexpressed a wish to take up a special course in aeronauticalengineering at Clark Polytechnic Institute, John backed him up, and themother, who would have preferred a less hazardous profession for heryounger son, sighingly consented.
Paul's chum, Robert Giddings, had also gone to Clark Polytechnic uponleaving high school, his ambition being to become an electricalengineer. Thus both boys continued to be thrown in daily contact. Itwas their habit to go into the city to school each morning in the sedanwith Mr. Giddings; but as he left the city late in the afternoon theyusually took the train back.
As the friends now parted, Bob Giddings' last words were: "Don't forgetto get that new model airplane done by Saturday, Paul. I'm crazy tosee it."
"I'll be ready for you," was Paul's assurance; "but remember to keepthis under your hat. It's to be a secret test, you know."
"Trust me," said Bob.
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